Pour Prendre Congé
by Arithanas
Summary: *Entry for the "Original Character Competition"*. Synopsis: Henri the Fourth lost more than one friend. DISCLAIMER: Dumas & Maquet works are public domain. Warning: Slash implied.


Henri the Fourth was a rather fortunate man, most of the time. Being the King of France and Navarre was not a trifle. His marriage was now in train of being annulled and the pope was making arrangements for hitching him with another Medici, now that the biggest hurdle disappeared from scene. The hurtful demise of his beloved Gabrielle made it possible and he didn't know if he should thanks the heavens or curse them from her untimely departure. His heartache didn't impede his court to keep a festive ambient, to distract him from his grief, to make him think of his future as king and father; maybe the only people who showed him some empathy in his grief was Raoul, one of his cousins. His silent, calm presence and his wise advice had helped him navigate those last dark months. It helps a lot that Raoul didn't display his perfect marriage in front of his face all the time, like today.

There he was, in a corner, his eyes cast down, in silent contemplation of the innocent debauchery around him, his blonde wife didn't keep him company, like she did last night when they both arrived to a diner, hand in hand, Raoul hurried to bring the sweetest morsels to her dish, wine to her cup and his arm for a dance. Henri remembered, because the tender words, amiable smiles and modest glares were something that brought Gabrielle to his memory and the whole void hurt so much that sometimes he resented the happiness he put on his friend's plate, even if it was unwanted and fiercely rejected at first. Despite the fact theirs was an arranged marriage and the two decades between them, it was widely known that Raoul and Anne were the happiest married couple in court; some people even dubbed them _Turteltauben_, often in jealous awe.

Henri also remembered Anne by reasons he hoped would never reach Raoul's puritan ears. It would be really unfortunate that the person who accompanied his predecessor to Poland and dedicated for years to providing information to Henri when he needed that particular comfort most, came to known that the once King of Navarre knew the warmth of his wife's thighs and the shameful sighs and tender cries of unbridled pleasure. No, Henri was not proud of gaining that knowledge on a hot June night when he was still mourning the demise of his beloved Duchess of Beaufort.

The absence of Anne was just one of many things that got him bored early, and he soon retired with the men of his chambers to seek oblivion in his sleep. The party could go on without his presence and, as his men lit the way, Henri found himself wondering about how his life would be with a Catholic, Italian woman; and to his dread he found the prospect less appealing than the party. He was tore from his grim revelry by a silent form waiting in silent respect by the door of his quarters.

"What is it, La Fère?" Henri de Bourbon asked. His cousin Raoul seldom sought him in his rooms unless a catastrophe was near but avoidable, otherwise he'd speak about it out loud in the council meeting.

"If it pleases your Majesty, I would like to dare and beg for a quarter of hour," Raoul stated his intentions right away, his hat in hand, in the choicest words of his ever impressive word-stock, not because he wanted to show off, but to pay due respect to the majesty in the person of Henri de Bourbon, "to have the boldness to speak to you alone of serious matters."

Henri signaled the men of his chambers to retreat and he entered his chamber with his cousin in tow.

"What is troubling your mind, Raoul?" Henri asked once they were safe from prying eyes.

"I never said there was a trouble, Sir."

"But unquestionably, you want to talk about something," Henri insisted with a smile, knowing that Raoul would rather die from hunger than to ask for a piece of bread, "so I beg you to give me the relationship of the facts to know on what topic we will waste words tonight."

"My wife is in an interesting condition," Raoul, always tactful, began the relationship of facts, "a quite interesting condition, actually."

"I guess you'll be very happy then. After ten years of marriage!" Henri smile was full of genius and goodness, feeling the weight slipped from his shoulders. At least this time, Raoul was not the harbinger of ill news. "Let's celebrate!"

Before Raoul could protest the festive congratulation, Henri took a pair of tumblers on a nearby table and generously poured the best wine he could find.

"Yes, I suppose I should celebrate like any other man..." Raoul said, taking the tumbler from his king's hands; but his frown was too pronounced for a man with such portentous news.

"You're impossible, Raoul, I find you an heiress, you find her too young; I married you to a beautiful woman, you find her too witty; she gives you a child and you react as if it was the worst misfortune that could happen to any man on earth!"

"First of all, she was young and she was far too witty for her own good; secondly, Sir, I never touched her."

Henri needed to make sure his grip on the tumbler was not too tight, and that gave him time to remember it was widely known those two bunked together even in the hottest summer: "But you two…"

Raoul darted a glare that would generate a myriad of troubles if a witness were around, but there was only the two of them in the room. The message was clear and loud: King or peasant, nobody had any right to talk about Raoul's marriage. Then a turn of Raoul's head seemed to ask for his friend's forgiveness on this thorny subject that made him adhere seriously to his principles.

"But you two," Henri insisted, rather upset from being censored, "you are the happiest couple in Paris."

"We are," Raoul's peremptory tone gave not lead for further commentary.

"What is the trouble then? Please explain it to me."

"You married us when she was thirteen, Sir," Raoul commented and made a wide turnoff the wrist, toying with the wine, not because he wanted to cool the drink, but because he wanted something to entertain his eyes. "She even carried a doll to our wedding night…"

Henri smirked at that tasty tidbit of marital indiscretion. He was not sure the doll could ever deter him from collecting his marital rights, but he was sure it put a serious damper on his friend spirit, whose chivalrous upbringing would never allow him to distress an innocent girl.

"Does she know…?"

"Whose child it is?" Raoul sank his head lower, keeping his eyes on the wine. "Of course, Anne has a solid head over her shoulders and she's not as slattern as your worthy Gabrielle made people believe." Raoul let out a deep sigh, "Besides, she was a virgin…"

"Are you sure?" Henri tried to keep his bearings, but the enormity of those words was crushing him slowly and his hand was threatening to do the same with the tumbler.

"She said so, and I have the utmost regard of my wife' word," Raoul raises his eyes to see Henri in the eye, "I don't require vows from my friends."

Such an elegant insult, Raoul was man enough to deliver it to his King with an open expression. Henri felt the need to raise his hands in exasperation, because that man was abusing his rights to sanctimony; Raoul had some dangerous, shameful, dark secrets, and even the King had had a hard time trying to accept the blunt honesty of his friend, who should have better sense to issue judgments and to flaunt presumption of his innocence in front of a person who knew he was nothing of the sort.

"There are numerous things she should know," Henri replied, trying to hide behind the mantle of authority.

Yet, Raoul only loosened some points of his doublet and from the inside of it he drew a silver_ boutonné _cross with pendant dove, so richly embossed that anyone could mistake it for the Order of the Holy Ghost that Henri III gave him. "She knows about this."

Henri was about to add another item out from the bag of secrets but Raoul's blue eyes stopped him short.

"Anne knows everything." Raoul said and sigh before carry the cup to his lips. "I couldn't marry someone without being honest: I poured the whole load that burdened my heart and she understood."

Henri de Bourbon just gaped for a moment, just enough for Raoul to take a healthy gulp of wine, because the contents of this man's heart made him a very uncomfortable person.

"Anne's such a sweet girl, Henri, a real friend. She blames herself, Sir, for taking my most cherished dream and make it real while alienating me from it forever…" Raoul continued, since Henri made no attempt to silence him; his voice was deadened to a muffled monotone, by a mighty effort of will. "She married me with eyes wide open and she's really distressed because she broke her vows to me, even when she had no obligation in my eyes and she had my unequivocal concurrence to give her heart to whomever her fancy chose. I can't govern mine, which right I have over hers?"

"If both of you have whitened your marriage at that point, how that's a problem now?" Henri demanded with a regal air of detachment and iced disregard, "And why must I be concerned?"

Raoul darted his eyes to him, his big gray eyes were shocked and moist. He was hurt by the cold phrase, but in spite of it, his composure was faultless.

"Because Your Majesty knows the wretched being who took advantage of my wife's tender heart under the disguise of a bereaved widower," a chilly pause, "or something of the sorts. A despicable man, I say! One who, in doing so, killed the heart of a good man and the faith of a good woman. God take good care of the reckoning!"

"It seems to me that you forget you are addressing to the King."

"It seems to me that you are offending God," Raoul replied to Henry's face; his voice was cool but his eyes were wet, "Does Your Majesty wants to compare magnitudes?"

Henri reined his exasperation, Raoul always had a reply for everything and rhetoric was never his forte.

"Raoul, I'll find a way to legitimize the child…"

"And drag my wife through the mud? To expose her to ridicule and to be called names unsuitable for a married woman?" a sad shake of his head and folded arms closed the matter. "Even if Your Majesty did not you take his vows to Margaret seriously, that does not mean that I did likewise."

"Be reasonable, Raoul ..."

As soon as those words left his mouth, Henri knew that his choice of arguments had been wrong. In all of Paris, he could not find ten men who could put together their wisdom, calm and tolerance to make a Raoul de La Fére. His friend was too levelheaded to forget himself in a fit of passion.

"What do you propose then?" Henri asked, sitting with an air of exhaustion.

"When you purchase a heifer to any farmer..." Raoul started, following his habit to talk on metaphors, "and a few days later such beast calve out, the farmer always admits that if the cow is yours, you own the calf."

Make some sense of this mass of rural customs references took Henri a little time, but when he finally did, he jumped out of his chair ready to face him. Being Raoul another man, he would not waste time on words but he knew Raoul would never raise his hands in protection.

"That child is my son! You cannot talk seriously about taking one of my children away. The blood of the Bourbon is not a game!" Henri was no longer sure which point he was trying to argue, "Besides, you're calling her a cow!"

"It was not me who treated her as meat in a butcher window ..."

The grave seriousness of his voice always soothed Henri's raged nerves when he was in front of a hard choice, but this time it hurt more than a ball in the thigh.

"I'm her legitimate husband, that's my lawful heir," Raoul placed the tumbler on the first surface he could find. "I meant to flaunt my happiness in front of the whole court before taking my wife to my castle near Vitray. With your Majesty's permission we will exile ourselves to the country and we will never bother you again."

"No, Raoul. You will stay here and your wife too."

"I cannot, Sir," Raoul bowed deeply. "Some wounds need to be away from the sun to heal properly. My wife needs solitude to regain her zest. I need silence to believe in the royal majesty again."

"I must manage that child's life, Raoul."

"That's precisely, Sir, what you mustn't do. Why should the King take care of one child who already has a parent? I beg you to be consequent, Sir."

"A royal child should not be raised in the country!"

"The country was enough for your noble father," Raoul stood still, proud of being a country boy himself. "You gave me La Fère, Sir. I certainly hope this last donation was enough to pay for any alleged service I could have rendered to Your Majesty in the past."

Another elegant insult, since Raoul was not referring to the lands. It was hopeless, Raoul was within his rights to do as he pleases, except from taking his leave unannounced; and Henri must grant it, nothing could be more natural to a loving husband than to take care of his expecting wife.

"You came to me to say that your wife is carrying my baby, just to tear him from my side?"

"That belly could be carrying a girl, Sir," Raoul said with a sigh, "and my wife is carrying my child. I'm just explaining why I'm asking you my leave, Your Majesty."

"There's no apology enough for this wretched mess, Raoul," Henri said, it was his duty to years spent on the saddle and among the clatter of the war. "Are we to part ways by being less than friends?"

"I have loved and will love you as much as a man on earth can love another man, bar none," Raoul said, his wet gray eyes shone under those strands of blond hair had been allowed to grow for years, to perfect the Catholic disguise over the Puritan heart. "As much as a man can love another man without offending Our Lord, that's it…"

A sad smile appeared on his face and Henri tried to mimic it with the best of his effort, for that sentiment could never be reciprocated.

"Do not ask me to stop loving you now, Henri." The smile died in Raoul's lips. "Not when I sacrifice to you my honor and the most sacred vows a man take to another creature of the Lord."

What can a man say to another when his heart was not engaged the same way? Especially to a man like Raoul, who's well aware of his own tragedy and tried to conceal it by all the means at his disposition. Silence could only follow that declaration.

"Since the only thing you ask from me is my friendship," Raoul said with a tired sigh, "a friend I will remain for the rest of my days."

"As a friend, then, I ask you to write to me, to give me full recount of that child's progress."

"It would be nice," it was the reluctant acceptance. "I could talk to someone about how much the child resembles to you…"

"It could look like his mother."

"Don't flatter yourself," Raoul shook his head once again, "bastard children always look alike his father."

Suddenly, Henri felt that that's the reason behind Raoul's retreat. He feared that the resemblance was too great to conceal the child ascendance or rather he felt that he should be too proud of the resemblance and harm his friend. He would never love his wife more than he loved his King. Henri let him go, to spare him further shame, further torment, further agony to keep waiting what was not meant to be.

"You could leave, Count," Henri said and standing tall, even if his shame was crushing him, he offered his friend and relative his hand for a last homage, "with my blessings and my gratitude."

"Your Majesty, it was an honor to be of service," Raoul said and knelt, bowing as deeply as he can.

The kiss was troublesome, a little bit longer than ritual demanded, more personal than it was required by homage. Henri was well aware that Raoul was pouring all his love in that hand that he would never touch again in his mortal life, that he was letting go the only idol his puritan heart dared to worship and his sincere admiration and adoration seeped from his warms lips. It was the most honest and sad kiss that Henri received in his life.

Raoul didn't raise his eyes; he took his leave and walked to the door clothed in the remains of his dignity. Henri could vow that man's head was already on the life ahead him and the king wish he could do likewise, for his life was bound to be even more challenging now that Raoul and his resourcefulness was not part of it. Henri pulled the right cuff of his shirt, ready to pull it over his head and move to his bed, but said cuff was wet and he knew that little fact was going to rob him the sleep.

* * *

Many thanks to lilgenious for the proofreading!


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